Colt Revolver Relic: Bits of Parkinson history.

I finally took another look for more information on our old gun from the Parkinson property at the base of Little Mountain.  This time I went online to identify the year of manufacture of the Colt relic.   

The following I knew from a gun collector and history buff  library patron in Bozeman.  More information was going to cost $25 from Colt some years ago, so I never went ahead with a match with the serial number. 

1851 Navy Colt Revolver

36 Caliber

Octagonal Barrel

Serial #17499

Today, I found a phone number online and was expecting to pay a fee.  Not so,  she just looked up the information above after I noted the octagonal barrel.

In better days it would have looked like this.  The engraving on the cylinder is a Navy image, therefore its name.  Note the brass piece above the wood handle, that is the back strap that is missing from ours for whatever reason.  

Identified by Colt to have been manufactured in 1852.

7 February 2012 

Wikipedia has more interesting trivia on the 1851 Navy Colt .

My interest in the revolver had been renewed when I took my mission memorabilia to the Church History Library, Tuesday.  They will begin digitizing my journal, letters home, slides and scrapbook.  They'll return the items with a thumb drive in about four months.  They want them for a Brazil Mission project they are doing with emphasis on sister missionaries.  While in Boise I read everything but found nothing needing editing.  I added a preface and afterword to the journal to give perspective.  It has been an interesting journey to see one more evidence that the Lord has things in mind for us that are better than what we might have in mind. 

Scott Christensen, archivist, had written his thesis on Sagwitch the Shoshone chief whose tribe was massacred just north of Franklin in 1863.  Scott loaned me a copy.  It is available online at Digital Commons.  It was very interesting hearing a fuller history of Chief Sagwitch without prejudice but rather appreciation for his strengths.  It was interesting to see the tribe's original record of the temple ordinances they did after the dedication of the Logan Temple.  At that time they didn't have a written language.  Their history was relayed through stories from one generation to the next. From these stories they knew their ancestor's names.  

I hadn't known of an attempt to later establish a homestead community for the tribe near Franklin sponsored by the Church.  A more successful one, Washakie,  was located by Tremonton as I recall.  It was an effort to avoid a reservation environment for them.  

You might remember that the Samuel Rose Parkinson family took in one of the three surviving children from the Bear River Massacre and gave him the name Shem Parkinson.  He was about three-years old at the massacre.  SRP notes him in his journal.  Evidently, there was a trial for stealing from SRP in 1874.  Even so, a couple of months later he notes Shem went along with the family to Mendon for a celebration.  Shem died when he was about 21 or 22 of pneumonia.  

Thirty-Years Thoughts

Thirty years since Chris slipped away.

After many years of crises the morning began as usual.  All of you off to school and David to work at the Institute, Jill at home with me.  Chris didn't feel like eating much breakfast.  I helped her to her room to dress and do her morning routine of a few exercises she liked to hang on to.  Then after her prayers she laid on the floor with her scriptures and magnifying glass to read.  She liked some independence.

I continued with tidying up the kitchen as usual and answering the phone.  It was Kris Rodgers--had I seen their dog?  After commiserating with Kris I walked to Jill's room to see how she was coming along and noticed Chris on the floor, her head on her scriptures, very still.  She had slipped away.

Dear little Jill only four-years old did as I asked and called David at the Institute.  I lifted Chris on to her bed and then, just not willing to do nothing, tried to resuscitate her.  At some point I called 911,  again needing to do something until David came.  She was gone.

David picked up each of you at school, you know about that better than I do.  

The way we were five months before.   

My birthday present family photo I had saved for all year.    

A difficult day for Chris, but she did her best and cooperated 

when she understood how much I wanted to have our photo.  

Its a treasure.

Thirty years and today its harder than most years.  

At times I sense David's influence and even nearness, but today,
this 30th anniversary of Chris' passing, I can hardly take it in.

I wonder how it is for each of you.  

I wonder how it was for you thirty years ago.  

We can't linger very long at this spot.

Life has moved on to wonderful times and great memories.  

And so it continues to move on.

We are here and they are there.

It was only with David's illness that mourning was replaced 

and then they were together.

Your wonderful lives and sweet personal opportunities along the way 

fill in their absence, 

until we all meet again.

It is your lives and the wonder of the next generation and 

 the reunions and gatherings from time to time 

that makes up for their absence.

So many, many good things happening these days in spite of 

our separation promised to be brief.

And so we'll have a good day and try to make a difference for good.  

Life is good with you.  You each make a difference.

Love,

Mom